


heaven above sent me love

by blackkat



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [129]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Bickering, Environmental Space Terrorists, Flirting, M/M, Terrorists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 10:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16015667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: That sharp gaze sweeps over Shūhei for a long moment, head to toe and back up again in a slow drag, and then Grimmjow says with lazy intent, “You look good with a sword.”Shūhei won't let his reaction show on his face, keeps himself expressionless even as he slides Kazeshini back into the sheath. “And you’d look better if you washed your clothes more than once a month,” he says, but when Grimmjow reaches out to grip his jaw, he doesn’t pull away.





	heaven above sent me love

“If we blow up one more power plant they’re going to send a whole _army_ after us,” Shūhei says, even as he stuffs himself a little further under the engine. Grease splatters his face, followed by a spray of sparks, and he curses loudly, wrenches a wire out and then kicks the covering hard.

“Fuck off and leave my engines alone,” Grimmjow snaps. “You're supposed to be fixing them, not _breaking_ them.”

“They’re already broken,” Shūhei says tartly. “And they’re held together with adhesive and prayers, anyway. You're an Espada, shouldn’t you be able to fix these yourself?”

Grimmjow scoffs loudly, and there's a sharp crack as he jams the engine bay door shut. “I don’t _remember_ being an Espada,” he snaps in return. “And if you're not going to use that fancy sword of yours, you might as well make yourself useful while I save our asses.”

“Who _exactly_ is saving our asses?” Shūhei protests, because he’s the one under the damn engine. With a muttered curse, he jerks two wires down, twists them together even as they spark against his fingers, and then shoves them back up into the engine. This time, when he smacks the console above him, it crackles and flickers to life, the sway of the screen steadying to show the readouts. Everything’s dropping back to normal levels, no longer about to overheat, and Shūhei lets out a breath of relief.

“Done!” he calls, and a hand grabs his ankle, drags him out from under the console. Grimmjow offers a hand, and Shūhei grabs his wrist, locking their hands together as Grimmjow pulls him to his feet.

Flashing a toothy grin at him, Grimmjow lets go, then says, “I hope you can fit through the maintenance shaft.”

“You're bigger than I am, so worry about yourself,” Shūhei retorts, but he gamely puts his foot in the cup of Grimmjow’s hands and lets himself be boosted up into the dark opening. The ladder’s rungs are cold under his burned hands, and he winces, but hauls himself up several feet and calls back, “Clear!”

There's a thump, a loud grunt as Grimmjow jumps and grabs the lowest rung, then pulls himself into the shaft. “That’s about what you were saying last night,” he says cockily, and punches Shūhei lightly in the ankle. “Bigger than you and I know how to use it.”

Shūhei rolls his eyes so hard they’re probably going to fall out of his head soon, but keeps climbing, scaling up from the belly of the ship to the main deck. It’s a small ship, barely a freighter, but the distance is more than enough to strain at Shūhei’s tired muscles. He keeps himself moving, keeps half an ear trained on the shaft above them, but beyond a few barked orders thought the metal he can't hear any of the soldiers after them. Sweeping the ship, he assumes, and grits his teeth. Destroying the reiatsu plant definitely didn’t win them any points with the locals, but—it will. Eventually the poisoned planet will go back to normal. That’s the whole _point_.

The access hatch on the main bridge is well-oiled, at least, and Shūhei eases it off with careful fingers, listening closely. Footsteps, but Shūhei knows every inch of this ship by now and he can tell they’re around the corner, headed away. Out of sight of the panel, and he breathes out, feels a touch on his knee. When he glances down, Grimmjow raises a challenging brow at him, grinning, and Shūhei reluctantly finds himself smiling back. Damn it. getting caught up with a smugger-turned-terrorist is _such_ a bad idea, but—

Well. Shūhei hasn’t left yet, sacred duty aside.

He rolls out through the hatch, comes to his feet with Kazeshini already in hand. The blade laughs in his head, eager and vicious, but Shūhei has had years of practice containing the bloodlust, playing the perfect Shinigami on the surface even when his soul takes the form of a monster. It’s gotten easier since to Gotei 13 fell, or maybe Shūhei’s just gotten more lax; either way, he sweeps the blade around even as he steps around the corner, hears the report of a gun and blocks it with a quick stroke of the blade. The bolt reflects off the metal, and the soldier’s eyes go wide with stunned horror. It’s already too late for him; Grimmjow lunges past Shūhei with an eager laugh, slamming shoulder-first and crushing the man against the bulkhead. He collapses with a choked cry, boneless, and Grimmjow scoffs.

“What a fucking weakling,” he says, stepping over the body and looking Shūhei over. There's a light in his eyes, something that feels like the curl of Kazeshini’s power in Shūhei’s soul, and it takes effort to meet his blue eyes evenly, to not shift back when Grimmjow steps closer.

That sharp gaze sweeps over Shūhei for a long moment, head to toe and back up again in a slow drag, and then Grimmjow says with lazy intent, “You look good with a sword.”

Shūhei won't let his reaction show on his face, keeps himself expressionless even as he slides Kazeshini back into the sheath. “And you’d look better if you washed your clothes more than once a month,” he says, but when Grimmjow reaches out to grip his jaw, he doesn’t pull away.

“Come on, you little bitch, don’t be like that,” Grimmjow says, but the slant of his mouth is all amusement, and the pads of his fingers are callused. Shūhei breathes out, lifts his eyes, and Grimmjow grins. “I know you took a fuck-ton of vows with that order of yours, but being a fucking killjoy wasn’t one of them.”

“Killjoy?” Shūhei asks coolly, and knocks Grimmjow’s hand from his face. Takes a step forward, right into his space, and when Grimmjow’s eyes narrow he leans in, leans up, until their mouths are only separated by a few bare inches. “That’s not what you were calling me last night.”

Grimmjow’s eyes widen, and then he laughs, loud and deep. He reaches out, but it’s Shūhei who pulls him into a fierce kiss, knotting his fingers in blue hair and chasing Grimmjow’s tongue back into the heat of his mouth. There are hands on his hips, sliding down to grip his ass, and Shūhei has to catch a sharp breath, break the kiss with a groan.

“We still have to flush the ship,” he says breathlessly. “The soldiers—”

Grimmjow growls, and his grip tightens. He hauls Shūhei up, picks him right up off his feet and takes three steps to drop him on top of the console. His mouth catches Shūhei’s again, and the angle is better like this, without Shūhei having to stretch so far. With a sound of approval, he hauls Grimmjow in between his knees, kisses him even as Grimmjow fumbles for the controls to seal off the bridge and flush the soldiers out of the ship. It will take a minutes, Shūhei tells himself, and they can't take off until it’s done.

They might as well keep themselves occupied in the meantime.


End file.
